


To the Stars

by motoroilfreeway



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, Modern AU, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, The Deep Web, True Love, Witches, hexer-for-hire, hexes, hexing descriptions, witch!UK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10165079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: Arthur doesn’t believe in true love. Despite that, he still willingly accepted a hexer-for-hire job to hex some man into a deep sleep that can only be cured by a true love’s kiss. His employer seemed too confident that she’ll pull it off---the true-love’s kiss, that is---but as usual, it doesn’t work. When things go out of hand, she leaves the sleeping man in Arthur’s care, cursed to sleep in all of eternity. Arthur ends up caring for him for a while, out of pity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New fic, I know orz. I can’t help myself when it hits me like a freight train. Probably the only fic I’ll be committed to after Guilty Pleasure. This is a motoroilfreeway kind of story, if anyone from prev fandoms have known me. That’s all I’m saying.
> 
> Most peeps mentioned in this fic will be ocs by default unless I say so. Obviously, Arthur and Alfred are UK and US respectively. It’s the basics.

               Arthur knew the moment that he had received that email will be the end of his peace and quiet.

It was one of the usuals, of course. It asked the basics, nothing suspicious there. He did a double---triple check to make sure, anyway because the letter was constructed too formally, too strictly and roughly like the words itself doesn’t fit the sender at all.

Turns out that the mail is harmless as a fly.

Until they manage to get to your food and lay their disgusting eggs, that is.

Nonetheless, the potential employer offered quite the hefty sum and he wasn’t _that_ stupid to not accept something this simple.

_I’ve got good words from my wide range of contacts that you are good at what you do. How much do you charge for hexes? I require the strongest you could conjure._

Arthur clicks his tongue at that. Starts typing out words and ends up erasing them all dreadfully slowly with a backspace. That was at least a paragraph already, but he’s feeling spiteful today.

_Yes, I could do that. How do you want us to discuss the terms?_

He ends up typing. No greetings whatsoever.

This is the deep web. What kind of employer gives a shit about your lack of formality?

The stupid ones, that is.

He takes a moment to lie back down into his bed, nuzzling the soft pillow beneath his head. He had to stay up late to brew a potion and it left his neck aching, having spent six hours straight looking down as he slowly mix his ingredients in. It’s annoying when people complain why potions are so expensive. It’s like they think it’s easy to brew one.

If you want clear skin for cheap, go buy a cleanser. And a moisturiser too. Dedicate yourself to that ritual every night. If Arthur could do it, then that guy could too.

He was just about to drowse back to sleep when he hears a notification from his laptop. He checks to see that it was the prospective employer from before.

 _They reply fast_ , he thought. It was still 5 in the morning, Arthur had yet to get his well-deserved rest from aforementioned potion-brewing session he had but he supposes not all people can do what he does.

He opens his new mail and decides to read it now, if he’s willing to accept or to refer them to someone else.

_9 am SHARP._

Then what follows was an address of a café fortunately not too far from where he lived.

Hell, he worked there.

Arthur checks the clock that says 5:21 am. He’s got about what? Two to three hours of sleep before he had to start dressing up and preparing to leave?

He sighs, finger hovering over his touch-pad. He taps at the reply button and types an affirmative.

When the application says it was successfully sent, he closes his laptop closed, doesn’t bother turning it off all the way, always leaving it to hibernate. Then he gets up, stretching. He heads towards his bathroom, he’s got to shower. He can still smell the stink of the burnt human hair on his skin, sticking like disgusting perfume.

Like hell he was sleeping now, when 5 am can become 9 am in a blink of a bloody eye.

 

                First thing Arthur realises when he sees his employer was that they’re a _she_.

Not really unusual, not really unwelcomed. Girl employers are…fine. They’re alright, he supposes. He doesn’t really have any expectation from them.

What really bothers him was that she’s wearing a shawl over her head. The get-up complements her sunglasses so well as she sips on her straw from a tall glass of iced coffee.

She wouldn’t stop looking everywhere, from the counter, to the doors, to the people in their seats, probably looking for him before looking at her phone, probably to check the time.

A co-worker had told Arthur that she had been scaring some patrons.

She just looks so suspicious, they told him.

It brings out a tired sigh from Arthur’s lips. _Why do people had to be so strange about  this?_ He was referring to his employer. She obviously had never done this kind of deal before, had she?

He shakes his head towards his co-worker, whose eyes widen. He tells him, “I’ll handle her.”

His co-worker brightens up at that. “Oh my g! Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” He sighs again as he walks toward her table.

“Miss…erm,” Arthur drawls, stumbling on purpose to gather her attention to him. He thinks for a while on what her name is, having forgotten on his way to the café.

“Annalise?” She frowns, her hand previously covering her red lips settles on the table to show her scowl.

“It’s Anne. Anne Margarette.”

“Right,” Arthur nods, like he cared and pulls an empty seat from the table so he could sit across from her, doesn’t bother to ask for permission to sit whatsoever. He doesn’t have time for that.

“So, what are talking about? And please, would you remove,” he makes a pointed hand gesture towards her get-up, “ _that_? It’s scaring the patrons.”

She scowls harder at him. “And if someone recognises me?”

“So? What would they do? _Greet_ you?” Arthur’s snark seemed to smack some sense into her. She tenses in her seat, paling as he stiffly pulls at the shawl over her head, the glasses slowly being folded into the tiny purse she had resting on her lap.

“Sorry,” She says, sobered. “This is my first time, you know?”

“Right,” Arthur says again, like he cared.

She winces at his tone, her eyes squinting dreadfully, afraid of another round of tongue-lashing.

“So,” Arthur starts again, getting her attention back at him fully. “What are we talking about?”

Annalise bites her lip, looking at the table grimly, “So much do you usually charge?”

Arthur gives her a withering look, _Are you serious?_ It says. Arthur made sure she had read his pricelist before she made any further move to make this official. She knows _how much_ Arthur charges and she said it was alright. If she’s asking for a bloody _discount_ , she should consider looking somewhere else.

Hexes aren’t something to take lightly. They’re dangerous, not just to the target but to the caster itself. One wrong move and they could _die_. Not to mention it’s illegal in most countries around the globe.

So yes, it will be expensive.

That still depends on what kind of spell she wanted. Which is why they are meeting right now in person, to talk about the terms and conditions.

“Right, right, I remember.” She says, nodding grimly. Her hopes for a discounted bill all gone.

“What are we talking about?” Arthur drawls. He swears to himself that he would really leave if she tries to change the subject again.

Fortunately for Arthur---or unfortunately, but on why his thoughts had told him that, he doesn’t know---she didn’t. She appeared more interested, actually, her eyes glowing.

“I want a love spell---“

“No,” Arthur makes a move to stand up, so fucking done with her shit but she stops him.

“I’m not done yet! Of course I know love spells aren’t real.” She grumbles in frustration. Arthur nods stiffly and goes back to his seat.

Annalise starts to inhale, about to brace herself. She started speaking quietly now, so that no one else could hear them but themselves. Arthur would’ve told her he already put a sound barrier over them the moment he sat down but doesn’t because he’s pissed.

“Hear me out first, okay? So there’s this guy,” She flips through her phone and shows the screen to Arthur. “I want you to put him to sleep---imagine sleeping beauty---and only true love’s kiss can wake him.”

Arthur doesn’t bother to spare the man in the picture a proper look when he’s too busy looking at his employer in disbelief.

“…true love’s _kiss_?” He says slowly.

“Exactly!” She says, too excited to notice Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur blinks, “We can just make it so that he wakes up to someone’s kiss.”

She smiles, almost laughing now. “No, no, you don’t understand, it had to be true love. He’s my boyfriend---well, ex now, that he left me for _his_ true love.” She ends her bauble with a sneer. Her hand tightening their grip on her mobile.

“It’s doable, right?”

“O-of course it is, but---“

“Then I want it!” She announces, nodding to herself as she continues flipping through her phone, scrolling some pages and smiling as she taps on some.

Arthur pounds his hands on the table, “You don’t understand, true love---that just doesn’t happen. I thought you said you know love spells aren’t real?”

Love spells aren’t real. They are as fake as they come by because it’s a form of black magic that needs feeling, which in turn would contradict what a black magic requires: the ability to feel nothing. The more you feel nothing—emotions--- the more the spell strengthens. To be able to feel in the middle of conjuring may cause the spell to eat up at you, until your life is no more.

As for true love, however, they are a different case. To use them as an antidote is doable, it doesn’t even need much work on Arthur’s part when making strong hexes will and always will be his best point. Throwing away all his emotions for days aren’t much of a trouble, even on normal days.

The worrying part in her request however, is that she’s expecting it to work. It doesn’t matter if it will work with someone else, what Arthur worries about was that she was expecting it to work with _her_.

As far as Arthur is concerned, true love does not exist.

Be it familial or romantic, it’s not real. He had seen parents kill their own children, children who scorned their own siblings, sent their own parents in homes for the aged to rot, lovers who stab each other’s backs for their own interests and gains.

People may have infatuation, but true love? To love someone unconditionally and to willingly put up everything for them at the cost of their own?

That’s unlikely.

He knows in himself that Ms. Annalise here doesn’t have that kind of love in her veins for that man one bit.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I love Alfred. Which is why I’m going as far as making a deal with you. Love is sacrifice. I’m sacrificing my parents’ retirement money for his love.”

“You’re serious?”  Arthur gawks. So she’s desperate.

She nods. “What’s your problem anyway? It wasn’t like he’s gonna be your problem, he’s mine.”

“Oh right, of course.” He nods, disappointed that she doesn’t notice his sarcasm, thick and buttery as he laid it thick.

Arthur sighs, deeply. This talk has drained what remains of his energy. He leans on the table to knead on his forehead. Ms. Annalise was so kind not to ask about it.

“So, when do we start?”

“When do you need it?”

“ASAP.”

“Right,” he starts, mind going through his inventory, just to check if he had the ingredients on stock.

“Well, you’re quite lucky, Ms. Annalise.“

“Margarette.”

“Right. So, I have everything on stock. We can start as early as today, if you’re free after this?”

She seemed to perk up at that. “Wow, really?”

“Er, yes, really.” He furrows his brows, confused. Was it really so strange to hear him say that he can get it done _right now?_ “My apothecary was a few blocks from here, we can get started.”

He makes a move to stand up but she stops him.

“Wait. Do I really _have_ to be there? Can I just give you his info and pic and you can mail me later if it’s done?” She asks him. She appeared quite nervous, her hands tapping on her phone restlessly and her legs wouldn’t stop crossing and uncrossing.

“Yes, you _have_ to,” Arthur tells her, about to scold her again for being so ignorant. “I can’t misaim my hex because your antidote is difficult.”

She remains quiet on her seat after that, avoiding his acidic stare.

“You’re not scared of an apothecary, are you?”

It hits a bull’s eye when suddenly perks up, face red and a big frown on her face. An injured ego.

“Of course, not! I’m just, you know…”

“Right,” Arthur says and she looks away, catching his sarcasm well and true.

“Follow me,” Arthur raises a hand to catch her attention whilst taking off the sound barrier around them as he does so. They leave the café, heading to Arthur’s shop.

 

                Arthur’s apothecary was like any other apothecaries out there: shelves and shelves of bottled plants and animals, labelled with things like _cough_ , _common cold,_ _stomach ache_ , _period cramps_ and so on.

Annalise pokes her head into his shop warily, then moves to eye his bottles filled with frog eggs with disgust, doesn’t bother to check the label and turns her head towards his shelf full of colored, clear potions. She marvels at the pink one, bubbles popping on the surface of the liquid.

“That’s my own personal recipe for _hemorrhoids_ , real popular with the men, for some reason.” Arthur startles her when the witch started drawling right beside her ear.

“Ugh!” She screeches at him, disgusted. “Why would you say that?”

“You looked interested. Follow me.” He leads her to the back of the counter, into his brewing room.

He’s glad that he likes to clean after himself. She wouldn’t have probably liked seeing remnants of his last brewery. If her reaction from before tells him.

He pulls a pot from the sink, freshly cleaned prior few hours ago and settles it on his stove.

He notices Annalise looking at his setup strangely. “That’s it?” She points at his pot then to his gas stove.

“Non-sticks are easier to clean.” He says as he moves around his shelves and drawers, picking the necessary ingredients.

“Any allergies with peppers, Ms. Annalise?” He hovers his fingers over his jars and aquariums of critters, all alive and twitching at him beautifully. He wonders which of them will do the job well.

He had a preference for moths, just because they’re wind-elemental. Wind is generally the strongest medium---best for carrying the infestation quicker and accurately---next to water—if his employers prefer a torture, not just an infestation.

“No.” She says, confused.

“And your boyfriend?” Beetle. Maybe he’ll use beetles this time. They’re getting quite restless today in their jars, begging for a release. He’d been spoiling the snakes lately, letting them do the work these days. People love the paralysis too much.

It takes her a longer while to answer. It pulls out a _tsk, tsk_ from Arthur’s tongue.

He had a feeling she’ll regret all of this later.

But---whatever. Like she said: not his problem. Her boyfriend is all hers.

“Uh, I don’t think so?”

“Good,” he says. Though peppers has really nothing to do with it. He just like idle conversations when he’s brewing.

It wasn’t like Annalise can tell anyway, right? Haha, right.

He pours some water on an old coconut shell, mixes it well with a spoon before pouring it into the pot.

“You’re not gonna turn the stove on?”

“You want to brew this yourself?” He points neatly organised mess of ingredients on his table. Annalise eyes the jar of big, black beetles, about the size of her entire thumb. The wriggle inside, pushing at each other and gnawing at tiny, soft leaves.

“No?”

“Exactly. Sit over there and wait until I call you.”

“Right, so what’s your wifi password?”

“mtrlfrwy009”

“Thanks.”

He gets some peace and quiet after that.

It wasn’t for another three more hours when Annalise calls for him from her seat, that Arthur notices that she had been leafing through his brewing notes, her phone resting on Arthur’s little coffee table, connected to a powerbank.

“So how long is it going to be again?”

“It’s almost over, actually.”

She perks up from that, turning her head towards him, his notes forgotten. “Can I see?”

“Sure. It needs a little bit more heat, and then we’re done.”

She looks into his pot, and she closes her eyes when a cool steam meets her face. It smells like sweet earth after it had rained.

“Petrichor,” She whispers, a smile on her face.

Arthur smiles at her, coyly. “Makes you just want to sleep, don’t it?”

She jumps away from the pot immediately, hands covering her nose. “What will happen to me?”

“Nothing. This is wouldn’t work without a catalyst. That’s how hexes always work.”

“Is this the part where I come in?”

“No, not yet. Later.”

 

Later comes when Arthur had the potion all done and ready, transferred in to a bunny-shaped mug that Annalise coos at.

“So is that rabbit going to come alive?”

“No, why would it do that?” Arthur asks, incredulous.

“Because it’s a magic potion?”

“That’s not,” he shakes his head. “How potions work.” Then he sips at the mug, its texture warm and creamy, like his mum’s favourite corn soup.

Annalise screams at him. “Why are you drinking that?”

“Because this is how it goes. It needs a catalyst. I’m the mixing pot where the catalyst goes in.”

“You’re not gonna eat me, are you?”

Arthur snorts. “Where the hell did you get that shit?”

She looks away, beet red, silently fuming from embarrassment. “Nowhere.”

“Right,” he nods, finishing his drink.

“Come here,” he calls Annalise towards his cooking table, where he grabs for the jar of beetles.

“Where’s his face?”

“His pic. I have it on my phone. Let me just get it.” She points to Arthur’s coffee table, where her phone is.

“You don’t have a hard copy?”

“Do I have to?”

Arthur quirks a brow. “No, not really. But, I don’t know…”

“Well, if it’s okay, then it’s okay with me.” She turns her screen on, her apparent boyfriend already in the display.

“Here’s him. Alfred Jones, age 23. He’s just graduated from law school.” Arthur pretends to look at her boyfriend’s face. The picture was obviously cropped, definitely recent or else she wouldn’t be using it right now.

“He’s quite a catch, congratulations.” He drones. She doesn’t hear his sarcasm because she giggles and replies, “I know, right?”

He opens the jar full of beetles and points the lid at her. “Put that here.”

All joy melts from her face.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, yes, I am. Put that in there. They need to see the target’s face clearly or we’ll mess up.”

When she refused to oblige, he adds, “Don’t worry, my beetles have good eyes. They’re looking forward to help you, look.” He points at the lid again.

“Do you love him? Alex.”

“Alfred and yes, of course I do!” She throws her phone in and Arthur was relieved that none of his pets got harmed.

“Are you ready for your true love, Ms. Annalise?” Arthur asks, poking his hand into the jar to pick a beetle and holds it to his face. They have seen her boyfriend’s face enough.

Annalise smiles and nods at him eagerly. “Margarette---and I do!” She says, like a marriage vow.

“Here he is,” He says, waving the beetle in the air. The sight of the creature doesn’t  sour the expression on her face.

That is, until he takes a crunchy bite of its head.

Then she screams.

“Why did you do that!” She said, punching him the chest. He almost lets go of the jar, if it wasn’t for his firm grip.

He turns his head away from her to push the other half of the beetle into his mouth, chewing carefully around its horns before swallowing audibly, “I told you, I need a catalyst.”

”Don’t worry, my beetles are quite enthusiastic in serving you today, they’ll do the job well.” He swallows, to make sure the beetle is completely inside him. He takes pulls out Annalise’s phone from the jar, safe and unharmed, contrary to what her face had been telling him.

She takes the phone with the tips of her fingers, carefully.

“Ms. Annalise,” He calls her, “Let’s write your receipt for you so we can get this all done and over with. Let’s go back to the counter, alright?”

“Margarette and yes, thank you.” She answers stiffly, back to business.

For a moment, Arthur fancied the idea of moving out the moment she left his store, because he knows in himself that she will return for a refund.

Because, true love, that just isn’t real.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annalise comes back, but not for a refund.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter, not a day later? I know right, its weird af. But I was actually planning on posting at last 3 chapters the following hour I posted the 1st one but I had to go to bed. So here's the 2nd chapter a few hours late.  
> Sword boys kept me occupied.

Annalise, as Arthur had expected, came back as early as the next morning, bringing the hellhounds with her as she rained furious knocks on his apothecary’s glass doors.

She was just lucky---or Arthur’s doors, really---that Arthur decided to work late that day, brewing a fresh batch of _Sunny Meadows_ \---for upset stomachs---for delivery to a nearby school’s nurse’s office. It was exam season, they told him. Students tend to get stuck in the infirmary for headaches and upset stomachs in these kinds of days.

He sighs gratefully to himself when he had decided to sprinkle a hefty amount of time-slowing powder for his brewing batch before he went out to check his door.

He cracks the door of his shop open, the wind chimes clacking pleasantly as he does so and peers at her haggard figure. “What do you need, Ms. Annalise?”

Her dress is filled with wrinkles and her hair is in disarray, she raises a finger with cracked nail polish to shove some stray strands away from her eyes as she glowers up at Arthur, who is a head and a half taller than she.

“You lied to me,” She sneered. Arthur blinks at her, opening his mouth to push his tongue on his molars, to show nonchalance. He raises an eyebrow, “I told you, didn’t I?”

It seemed to do well when her entire demeanour changes, her shoulders sagging in defeat and her expression crumbles into confusion and desperation---a different kind from what he had seen before.

Yesterday, before she left her shop, she had the face of someone patting their own back for a job well-done. Her aura is telling Arthur that she’s cheering herself on, that she _can do it!_

Now, it was different.

Annalise is at a loss.

She doesn’t know what to do. It’s what her body language is telling him.

“Please,” She says. She takes one shaky step towards Arthur, who doesn’t move a muscle, staring at her blankly like she’s some funny display at a thrift store.

“I need your help,” Her eyes started to water when Arthur shakes his head slowly at her in refusal.

She opens her mouth and closes it for a couple of moments, eyes darting everywhere, looking for _something._

“I..I’ll pay! However much you want, just,” She starts suddenly, shaky hands coming up to reach into her purse. She pulls a booklet, her cheque book.

“Please, save Alfred!”

Arthur doesn’t respond, still giving her that blank, disinterested stare. She knows fully well that Arthur had the right to refuse; they signed a contract that says so. This was an illegal kind of deal, too, so there’s no way she could get Arthur arrested if things go real bad. It will be easy for Arthur to pull out the signed contract and drag her with him if she involves the law.

Arthur can tell that these are the same things that are going through Annalise’s head as she stared at him back with wet eyes. He jumps when he suddenly feel her cold hands on his chest, pressing.

“Please, I have the money! However much you want, I can give it to you!” She insists.

Arthur’s lips press into a thin line as he sighs out through his nose, loud and heavy. It settles on the both of them like a blanket and Annalise blinks, unmoving as she listens to Arthur’s breath.

“Alright. Take me to Alex.” He says, stepping out of his shop and pulling the door close. He locks with a twist of his key without taking his eyes off Annalise, who seemed to compose herself after Arthur’s agreement.

She pulls at the stray strands that stuck to her face due to her tears back where they belonged and discreetly wipes the wet tears lining her eyes and cheeks, smudging her perfect eyeliner.

She nods gratefully at him. “Alfred. Let’s hail a cab.”

 

                It was past visiting hours, but Annalise manages to sneak the both of them in without much trouble.

Her boyfriend’s in the ICU, a couple of machines connected to him, keeping tabs of his vitals.

“They detected a strong hex on him but the medical witches can’t lift it off.” She smiles wryly at Arthur. “They can’t even trace the hexer, so he’s a lost cause.”

Annalise silently watches as Arthur walks around her boyfriend’s bed, touching the screens and eyeing the equipments. Then Arthur mutters, “What about the…other woman?”

“Huh?” Annalise asks.

Arthur turns towards her, “His other…girlfriend. Has she tried yet?”

“No, why would she?” Arthur gives her a pointed look at which she jumps at, turning her head away from him and pulling at her stray hair.

“She can’t.”

Arthur approaches her, “And why can’t she?”

“I…” her voice weakens, “I don’t want her to.”

“You’re afraid that it will work with her.”  Arthur tells her slowly, like it was a revelation. She seemed to react to it that way, when her eyes started watering again and she turns to sit on the chair beside her boyfriend’s bed.

“Alfred loves that skank, of course I’ll be worried.” She reasons. Arthur finds himself sitting next to her, but his hands remained on his sides. He doesn’t like consoling people for things they did to themselves.

“The antidote is true love’s kiss. It wouldn’t matter if Alex loved them or not. What does is if _they_ loved Alex.”

“Alfred.” She sniffs, but nods and it surprises Arthur, causing him to stiffen in his seat when she suddenly presses herself into him, crushing him into a hug.

Women are so soft.

 

                Her name’s Marilou and she’s pretty and nice, from what Arthur had seen.

She eyes Annalise with wary when they decide to return to the hospital during the designated visiting hours, meeting Marilou right after she left Alex’s door.

“Hey,” Annalise begins, her voice subdued and awkward. It seems like this was the first time she regarded Marilou with civility.

“Hey.” Marilou answers, raising a wary hand in greeting. Her eyes turn to Arthur as she slowly approaches the pair and Annalise was quick to notice, standing before Arthur as she begins, “This is Arthur. Um,” She spares the hallway a glance, towards the nurse’s station, a couple of medical witches on duty.

“Would you mind if we talk somewhere else?”

Marilou looks at between them carefully, hands around herself as she nods slowly, eying the nurse’s station.

“We can talk at the canteen downstairs.”

 

                “So,” Marilou starts, taking a sip from her cup of coffee, “What do you want to talk about?” She makes a pointed look in Arthur’s direction.

Annalise follows her gaze, her black hair flipping around her like a veil as she makes eye contact with Arthur. She nods before slowly turning back to Marilou.

“This is Arthur. He’s a warlock.” When Marilou does nothing but stare at them both, Annalise winces, adding, “A good one.”

It made Arthur wince when Marilou started looking at him differently. Regarding him in a higher pedestal.

Is it really that big of a deal with the non-magicks that one magick-user is better than the other?

“You can help Al?” Marilou asks him, her eyes earnest, they twinkle under the dim lights over them.

Arthur winces again, arms wrapping around himself to rub at his sides, the room had suddenly gotten too cold. “Depends. It’s a strong hex,” He pauses, feeling Annalise’s eyes on him, begging.

Heavy.

“From what I can tell. The witch is still untraceable, unfortunately.” It brings a frown on Marilou’s face.

“But,” Arthur starts, both women turning their attention to him fully, listening intently.

“I found a cure,” He swallows. It’s so much easier to elaborate when it’s just Annalise; she wouldn’t question or oppose because she had known it was a possibility from the beginning.

As for Marilou, she’s a blank slate.

Definitely not open to myths like true love. If magick users like Arthur call it a lost cause, the non-magicks will call it that---a myth.

He keeps his eyes firm and steady on Marilou as he continues, “True love’s kiss.”

Arthur doesn’t wince nor move a muscle when the scalding hot coffee on Marilou’s cup spills, some drips on his face, leaving small, pinpricks on pain as the woman slams her drink down into the table, calling the attention of the remaining people in the canteen in the early hours of the day.

“I knew it!” She exclaims, a finger pointing at Annalise’s direction. Her nail is long and square. It could’ve really done some damage if she puts that to proper use on Annalise’s flawless face.

“You planned this, didn’t you? You’ve always come between us, me and Al. You just can _never_ accept it, will you? His highschool sweetheart only to be dumped because he met a _skank_ in his _shitty law school_!”

Arthur discreetly wipes at the coffee drips on his face with the sleeve of his sweater as he leans on the table, silent and unfeeling as any by-stander would as he watched the spectacle happen in front of him.

He had pegged Annalise as the confrontation type. These kinds of situations are her battlefield, where she truly excelled at rather than at small talks and under-the-table deals to get back at an enemy, Marilou being the total opposite.

But right now---it was like the world had been flipped outside down.

Annalise was the silent, prostate one and Marilou was the bitch stepping on her.

“No!” Annalise tries say between Marilou’s endless barrage of attacks but fails, completely falling on deaf ears but Arthur’s. When he turns his head to look around them, he notices that people has yet to truly look, so he stands up and grabs both women on the shoulders.

Both women barely had  a moment to spare when the void eats the three of them, their figures banishing like smoke in the middle of the canteen, the people none the wiser.

It’s a hospital, after all. People tend to explode because of all the emotions and deaths and heartbreaks.

People screaming at each other, one confrontation after another, it’s a normal occurrence.

No one cared.

 

                Arthur’s transportation spell brings them to Alex’s hospital room.

Both women gasps as their bodies gain a physical form once again, both faces pale. It was inconsiderate of Arthur to drag inexperienced non-magicks into a sudden _blink_ after all, without even a fair warning.

In Arthur’s defense, it eased the tension between them. Marilou was calmer now, that he had done it.

“What was that?” Annalise asks, hands on the wall behind her, having fallen on it when she lost her footing after stepping on the solid ground after what felt like an eternity. It does that to first-timers.

“Blink.” Arthur tells her, watching in slight amusement as Marilou approaches Annalise and grabs both her hands to help her on her feet. She was calling Annalise things not a few moments ago and now, she helps her without even much prompting.

At the confused stare Annalise gave Arthur at his answer, however, he further elaborates. “A kind of teleportation spell.”

“So,” Marilou starts, eying Annalise. “Margarette’s not lying?”

“Hm?” Arthur asks as he grabs the curtains covering Alex’s  bed.

“That you’re…good.”

“If performing _blink_ is a standard to tell a magic-user’s skill, then even three-year olds are qualified as promising witches.” He snorts, pulling the curtains open as he does so.

Both women pauses to look, sees the man they both love and pine for lying asleep on the hospital bed, attached to multiple machines, magical and not.

“So, Ms. Marilou.” He points at Alex, then to her, offering his hand.

Marilou eyes him strangely, then to Annalise. “My name’s…Mary. Mary Grace.”

“Right,” Arthur nods, still holding out his hand.

“I just,” She swallows. “Have to kiss him, right?”

Arthur nods patiently and shakes his hand, urging her to take it so she could come closer.

She accepts, wrapping her hand around his, cold and wet from nerves.

She sits on the stool next to Alex’s bed and takes a moment to stare at his sleeping face, peaceful and quiet and not-quite-dead.

She swallows, carefully pulling out Alex’s oxygen mask to reveal his lips.

She kisses him, full and chaste on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Arthur describing women as soft: hemeant it literally. Sorry girls, but we can feel your boobs when you hug us. But its cool. Nothing sexual or whatever. Arthur is a virgin bisexual man.  
> **yea, you can see some bit of BBC merlin!modern au magick shit in here too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A burden will be passed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how fast did I update this time?
> 
> Kind of feel stupid for cutting it off..there. you know where. Because this chapter has a different…thing. You’ll see.  
> This fic is rated-T and it will stay that way. No sex or graphic stuff. But I had to put a warning anyway because people get icked of weird things. I dunno. So, WARNING for…diapers. Nothing graphic or anything, LOOK AT THE RATING, ITS T. Just…diapers.  
> And maybe feeding tubes too.

                They wait with bated breath as Marilou’s lips part from Alex’s.

Nothing.

Marilou turns to the both of them, eyes shifting between Arthur and Annalise at every blink.

“What now?”

Annalise was silent, staring at the ground, face tense as she bites her lip. She gives Arthur a wary glance, then to Marilou.

Arthur sighs, tired. He had been expecting this, more or less.

“That’s it.” He tells her, the words light and weightless on his mouth. He gestures his arms lamely towards her and Alex, still asleep on his hospital bed.

Sleeping, unmoving, and not-quite-dead.

A frown slowly settles on Marilou, an impending warning on things to come. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”

“It’s what I said,” Arthur turns his head towards Annalise’s direction for a moment, her expression broken, terrified, and at a loss. He turns back to Marilou, who was slowly standing up on shaky legs.

“That’s it.”

Annalise flinches from her seat when Marilou suddenly jumps, grabbing Arthur by the shoulders. Arthur doesn’t move, not even when he felt her nails dig deep into his skin, must’ve been leaving marks now.

He had been expecting this kind of reaction, too, so he wasn’t in the least surprised or terrified.

He’s a warlock whereas Marilou is just a human. In fact, they should be grateful, the both of them, that Arthur didn’t chose to blink out of the room the moment Marilou’s kiss did nothing to lift his spell.

He’s being considerate to stay and talk them into calming down lest these women tear each other apart.

“ _That’s it?”_ She screams at him, shaking him. She’s a tad taller than Annalise, but still not enough to be taller than Arthur. Her shakes barely made Arthur’s body move, but he’s just not into it at the moment, so he let his body sway to her will, let her blow  her anger at him. He would absorb it like sponge and do nothing about it.

Again, there’s nothing for him to fear when Marilou is a non-magick.

“I thought Marg said you’re _good?”_ She continues, pointing a stiff finger in Annalise’s direction, shaking with unbridled anger. Even Annalise can feel it a feet away that she winces and looks away sombrely, quiet.

“I said the antidote is a true love’s kiss,” He interrupts her, his tone as calm as he had always done. It makes her pause, her eyes shaking from their sockets as she forces herself to focus her gaze on his face. Her entire body is boiling with misplaced rage but it doesn’t deter Arthur from speaking out the truth.

“What happens after that is not my problem anymore isn’t it?” He lays it out, thick and aromatic that he can feel Annalise’s grief and regret on his skin, fresh and whole.

At the same time, Marilou’s rage-filled face breaks into sorrow, her eyes gleams as it starts to water and she releases Arthur like a terrified child. She turns to Annalise, whose face mirrors hers and to Alex, ever silent and motionless, the gas mask still lying beside him, neglected.

“I thought you love Alex?”

“H-his name’s—“

“---Alfred and yes, I do!”

They both say at the same time, their hands covering their faces in shame, sorrow, agony, and grief.

“You thought.” Arthur says.

The hospital room was silent, save for the beeps of the machines and Alex’s soft inhale of breath, ever the sleeping and the unmoving.

 

                                Three months pass like a blur.

It was Wednesday and he’s at the café, working his shift away. People don’t usually come around this time of the day, save for the afternoons when students have more free time to eat and study.

He was busy in the back room, doing the inventories, a pen and a clipboard in hand as the ticks at the items listed, making remarks on some if they need some restocking or returning (for damaged goods) when a co-worker comes in and taps him on the shoulder.

“Someone’s looking for you.” They tell him, head pointing outside.

He cocks his head towards the co-worker, who shrugs. “Didn’t say.”

Arthur taps his pen on the clipboard, listens as it makes a tap, tap, tap noise. His silence making his co-worker uncomfortable. They cough, then gestures at his pen and clipboard.

“Let me handle that.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, “Alright.”

Then he heads out, when his co-worker pointed their head to the exit, into counter, where whoever it was probably at.

What he sees waiting for him outside, surprises him.

He had thought he had seen the last of her some weeks ago, didn’t even bother to charge anymore when he hadn’t really done much to begin with.

He had thought leaving that hospital would mean finally closing that chapter of his life for good.

Apparently not.

He raises an eyebrow as he slowly approaches her. “Miss…Marilou?”

She frowns. “I’m Grace.”

“Right,” he nods as he leans on the counter.

“How did you find me?”

“Margarette.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding absently, then he starts again, “So, this had to do with anyone whose name starts with an ‘A’ and ends with a…’lex’?”

Marilou’s frown worsens, “His name is Alfred. Al. _Fred_.”

“Right,” Arthur nods, then looks around until he sees a co-worker he’s the most friendly with. He calls him, “Felipe!”

The man in question looks up from his place by one of the tables, a pen and a small notepad in hand, writing down an order from a customer. He calls back at Arthur, “Yeah?”

He gestures at the clock by the wall, right over the counter then towards Marilou, who barely glances Felipe’s way. “Would you mind?” He asks him.

Felipe nods, returning to his customer, pen scribbling things on the notepad once again, “Yeah, sure!”

“Thanks!” He shouts back, gratefully. He then turns to Marilou and points at one of the tables not too far from the counter, just in case the manager decides to leave his office and see him with a customer in the middle of his shift.

Marilou follows silently, sitting on the chair Arthur thoughtlessly pulls for her to sit on before sitting on the seat opposite hers. Once seated, he gestures an arm at her, a signal for her to start her case.

She takes a deep breath, and in the moment, her entire façade of calm breaks down like a wall.

She inhales again, swift and choked, “I can’t do it,” she starts.

Arthur watches her, in silence as he hands her a ply of tissue from the table. She accepts it gratefully, nodding in thanks silently as she blows into it. Arthur tries his best not to wince at the noise, only manages to go as far as to grimace on the table’s surface as he reaches out for more tissues to hand over.

He had a bad feeling about this.

When the warlock remained silent, Marilou tries to steady her breathing, speaking silently lest they get heard by the patrons. “Alfred---there’s no progress. The medical witches still couldn’t figure it out and Margarette bailed not too long after that.”

Arthur fights the flinch that came over his body when she reaches out to grab his hand in hers. He can feel the tremors in her veins, the blood pumping inside cold as they shook.

“He’s still...” She falters as she thinks about a word to call it, then she settles on something, “like _that.”_ When she gets nothing but silence and apathy from the warlock, she groans, her jaw set tight as her eyes shed frustrated tears.

“You don’t understand,” she grounds out, teeth clenched tight as she rubs fiercely at her eyes.

“You don’t know how hard it is---to wake up every day to him in bed, like he was just asleep; to tend to his _every little_ need like he’s a goddamn _child_!”

Arthur watches her with hawk-like eyes, observing every twitch of her muscles and tensions in her  nerves.

“What do you want me to do?”

It startles the woman, makes her blink until the last of her remaining tears drop down her red cheeks. She looks at him like he had offered the answers to her prayers.

“You.” She breathes out, her remaining hand grasping Arthur’s to join her other hand. They tighten.

“You’re the hexer, aren’t you?” She says, her voice tremendously low, beyond desperate. She pulls at Arthur’s hands tighter when the warlock attempted to bolt.

“It’s you, wasn’t it?” She presses her eyes big as they stare Arthur down like long, sharp sticks to pick and poke at Arthur’s skin.

Arthur stares at her wide-eyed, pulling his hand away from her grip but fails. Suddenly he felt stuck to his place, his feet petrified into stone. He tries to pull away again, only to have both his hands pinned against her surprisingly strong grip.

“It’s alright, I won’t tell.” She assures him, whipering low, and her face inches from his own.

“Just one last favour, please?”

Arthur pulls away again, his foot skidding on the tiled floor from his attempt but Marilou is strong. The chair he was sitting on shakes as he moves and it gathers the attention of the patrons nearby. Felipe, who was busy cleaning the counter looks up to check on him and gives him a look, “Should I butt in?” His look says.

Arthur swallows, glancing between Marilou and Felipe, wondering if it will be worth the shit if he asks for help when Marilou can spill his crime at any moment he bails.

In the end, he shakes his head at Felipe, who simply shrugs in concern as he goes back to work.

Marilou appeared satisfied at that, when Arthur stops his struggles and sighs out, heavy and tired. He grimaces at her, “What is it?”

“Take care of him,” her grip tightens and she looks at him gravely. It was a silent threat, Arthur could tell, clear as day when her eyes darken and her nails bury subtly into his skin.

“For me. I’ll pay, don’t worry.” She adds, then chokes on her tears as they prickle her eyes. She sniffs, one of her hands letting go of Arthur in favour of rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. She remembers the wads of tissues Arthur had given him earlier, crumpled into neat balls on her side of the table far too late, but grabs at them to wipe her face dry, anyway.

“I’ll provide the monthly allowance, while you work on his cure too.”

Arthur frowns, shaking his head slowly. “But that’s---“

“You’ll do it,” She hisses, low as she looks around them. Arthur didn’t fall to the trick to follow suit, his eyes glued to hers.

“Or else everyone will know.”

 

                His name is Alex.

Alex…Jonathan. His mind supplies and he frowns before shaking his head slowly.

People have strange names.

He had been released from the hospital for almost two months now, his current girlfriend discharged him and had been taking care of everything since then.

…Until now, that is.

He helped Marilou in carrying the man into a wheelchair, his belongings all but squeezed into a cheap-looking travel bag, heavy with clothes and what remains of his supplies.

Pushing the wheelchair into his flat, Marilou asks as she looks around, “Where’s his room?”

When Arthur looks back at her, carrying Alex’s belongings with nothing but a small “Hm?”, she frowns.

“Alfred. Where will he sleep?” She says like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

To be frank, Arthur hadn’t thought much into it. Not with the less than a day’s notice.

He lives in a very small apartment that covers his basic needs: a single bedroom, an adequate enough toilet with a small shower stall, a tiny living room for a couch to fit in and a tiny sink he calls the entirety of his kitchen by the window, right next to the toilet.

With the way Marilou eyes his flat with glazed-over eyes, her face in disgust, Arthur knows the answer to her own question.

He wanted to say his complaints right then and there, his blood boiling for a good half a second before it dies out, like a flame in candle that was immediately blown out by the wind.

In the end, he sighs.

He silently notes to himself that he had been doing nothing but that ever since he had accepted that bloody hex contract. Sighing too much can be derogatory to his health, he thinks.

He should remember consulting to a doctor about it sometime.

“This way,” He gestures to the door leading to his room.

He speeds up when he felt Marilou follow him, the woman slower when she has a weight far heavier than Arthur’s that she’s carrying. He sighs---he’d really need a doctor’s appointment, pronto---in relief as he slams the door closed on her. She hears Marilou shout right before him, muffled, he thankfully realises as he shouts back, the back thrown haphazardly by the foot of the bed as he flips his mattress over.

“Just a minute!”

He doesn’t really like people lying down where he sleeps. What if they smell him?

God, what a nightmare.

He runs to his dresser, pulls out a clean sheet for thebed and the pillows. He hesitates on his step, looking between the bed and the dresser, its door wide open. He clicks his tongue as he throws the clean set of sheets into the mattress, the previous ones still on it, now underneath, when he flipped it earlier.

He grabs for a blanket and a comforter too, while he’s at it. It gets unreasonably cold in his room at night.

He hisses when he hears knocks on his door, “Arthur?” He can hear Marilou calling his name, her voice muffled but the words decipherable.

“A _minute!”_ He shouts back, pulling the sheets harsher than intended off the mattress. It jumps at the tension, his arms feeling the tiny rip on his muscles at the unexpected force but he doesn’t react to the pain, his blood filled with adrenaline and what remained of his rage and frustration.

This is fucking room, his _home._ If she thinks she has the right just because she has an advantage, she’s fucking wrong.

“What now?” She screams, her knocks growing worse.

When Marilou’s met with silence, she pauses, pressing her ears on the thin door but before she could, it slams open, making her jump, caught red-handed. The warlock, however, doesn’t seem to notice as he pants heavily down at her, his face slightly flushed and it makes her wonder, peering at the room behind him, “What happened in there?”

“Bring him in,” Arthur says, pushing the door open wider as he gestures at the wheelchair, his supposed patient on it; unconscious, asleep, unaware. He helps her lift him, taking most of the man’s weight as he grabs his shoulders, Marilou the feet because the wheelchair couldn’t fit through the door.

“ _Careful,”_ Marilou hisses as she notices Arthur’s faltering steps the nearer they get to the bed. She pointedly ignores Arthur’s annoyed huff, his face redder than he did back when he opened the door.

Does this… _tart_ thinks her boyfriend weighs nothing? He’s fucking _heavy_ , for god’s sake.

He gets a dirty look from Marilou when Alex’s body bounces on the matters, an imminent sign that he was put down earlier than Marilou had instructed. He barely gives Marilou’s glare a glance, as he feels his legs go weak on him, causing him to collapse on the floor, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath, his arm coming up to wipe at the hot sweat on his forehead and neck.

He raises an arm limply towards the bed, “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

It makes Marilou’s face grow red, as she turns to her boyfriend, unharmed as Arthur had said. She huffs, pretending that the remark did not leave her embarrassed and out of words, because yes, she was wrong, after all.

Nonetheless, she snaps at Arthur, who but groans, letting his complaints be vocal for once as he fights the will to stay on the floor, maybe let it swallow him just so he can get out of his current situation. Instead, he stands up and sees Marilou huff again, rolling her eyes at him.

He frowns at her, still red-faced and out of breath.

“So,” Arthur says, after a moment of silence. Marilou looks up at him from her perch on Arthur’s bed, right beside Alex’s form. “What do I do now?”

Slowly, she stands up, her hand lingering on the side of Alex’s face, her eyes says she wanted to stay longer, but cannot.

Doesn’t want to.

“I’ll…have to tell you that later.” She tells him.

Arthur gives her a blank look, confused. Marliou sighs, hitching her handbag higher up her shoulder, her hand poking inside to grab at her phone. She checks the time and Arthur makes a not-so-subtle motion of his shoulders, pointing at the alarm clock sitting on his nightstand that blares large, red numbers that looks like the current time.

Marilou pretends not to notice as she coughs at the back of her hand.

“Well, I’ve got something important to do right now, might take a while,” She announces and Arthur couldn’t quite tell if its to him or to herself. She doesn’t seem to notice Arthur’s thoughts as she gestures her hand in Alex’s direction, adding, “He just fed a while ago, his pants are clean.”

Arthur blinks, “I’m sorry?”

Marilou looks up from her phone at that, “Sorry?”

Arthur’s brows scrunch up, shaking his head slowly, he asks, “What do you mean by that?”

Marilou’s eyes brighten in understanding and she perks up, “Yeah, right… _that_.” She shrugs, almost apologetic. Stress on that adjective.

She seems to choose her words properly after that, when she realised Arthur was still waiting for a proper answer. “I’ll come back as early as 6 pm later to help explain them.”

When she was met with silence, she adds, too quickly, “I promise.”

Arthur thinks that he should at least say something to that, so he takes a hesitant glance on Alex’s prone form on is bed, then to Marilou, who looked just as ready to jump his window with the rate he’s taking too long to reply. He breathes out, the words foreign on his mouth, “Please.”

Marilou just nods at him reassuringly, leaving his flat with a gentle click of his door.

 

                He had been cooped up during the rest of the day in his apothecary, his brewing notes, old and new are all scattered around him on the floor.

The school nurse had been asking for a stronger kind of potion for his _Sunny Meadows_ \---quite popular, he had told him, some students started developing tolerance, which had become a problem on Arthur’s end too.

People can’t just _develop_ tolerance on potions.

Not on his, anyway.

It’s bad for the business.

So here he was, what remains of his free time in the day spent in his shop, his notes on brewing _Sunny Meadows_ from its first debut to the last all spread out.

He was busy writing down notes on his latest trial that looks slightly lighter-colored than the original one---but he could work it out, colours aren’t the hardest to deal with out there, it’s the _bloody_ recipe that is---when his timer dings. He jumps up from his comfortable seat on the floor as he runs to the stove to shut it off, the slight tingling in his legs for sitting in that position for far too long is dutifully ignored for the sake of perfection.

He opens he lid of his pot, blinking at the warm steam that wafted across his face. He exhales in relief when the solution comes clear and he grabs the rubber spatula he had been keeping close to the stove to gently poke at its surface.

The surface ripples, the perfect lines glowing as they hit the sides of the pot.

Arthur’s smiles, mouth open. _Let’s see about that tolerance, eh?_

His phone rings.

His smile drops, the spatula thrown carelessly in the sink for washing as he walks away from the pot as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. The caller ID says “Felipe”, his photo taking over the entirety of Arthur’s screen.

He answers, “Hello?”

“Hey,” He says. He sounded nervous, his voice coming in short huffs of air. His voice was slightly muffled and his low, like he has his hand covering his mouth as he speaks lowly at the microphone.

“So, uh, remember that crazy lady this morning?” He laughs, strained. Arthur frowns, about to say that no, he doesn’t remember any crazy ladies that morning, what is he talking about but Felipe cuts him out, “Yeah, well. She’s here.”

He whispers madly and Arthur can feel the tightness of his grip on his mobile as he continues, “She’s angry and she’s looking for you. What do I do?”

Felipe’s voice was heavily wrapped in fear, his bones trembling, Arthur can tell. He’s in the verge of crying too, it’s evident in his breathing patterns.

Arthur looks up at his ceiling and thinks that, no, not in the verge. His eyes must be wet now too.

“What does she look like?” Arthur finally says, after a moment or so of silence.

He gets a shuddering gasp on the other side, an exasperated breath. “I-I don’t know! She’s the lady that screamed at you this morning! You know, the one that held you down? You left the café with her!”

“Ms. Marilou,” Arthur says in recognition.

Felipe sniffs, then Arthur hears some shuffling on the other side and he assumes that it was the other, wiping his tears off with the sleeve of his shirt. “N-no, I think her name’s Grace…”

Arthur hears some noises---voices---in the background, and Felipe mutters, “No, i-it’s okay, I’m okay…”

More sniffs and shuffling.

“You’re alright there, Felipe?”

“Yeah, I am,” He says. Arthur can easily hear him nod as he does so.

He clears his throat, “Alright, then. You remember my shop?”

It seemed to brighten the other at that. “The one with the lovely potions?”

Arthur coughs, “Yeah. Tell her to meet with me there. I’m…” Arthur looks around his brewing room, notices for the first time that the only lights on in the room were the lamp he dragged on the floor and the other by the stove. “…in there.” He ends lamely, his free hand swaying on his side.

“Okay, okay, I can do that.”

Arthur nods, “Thanks.”

He waits for the call to end, but Felipe quickly adds, quieter than before, “Call me tonight, around 10. If you didn’t, I’ll ring my boyfriend.”

At that, his mind wanders to Felipe’s tank of a boyfriend. A police officer of a boyfriend. That is also a tank. Arthur swallows, his tongue stumbling as he says,  “Right, thanks.”

“Be safe, Arthur.”

“...yeah.”

Marilou must’ve scared him that much, huh?

 

                Arthur barely gets his empty pot to the sink when he hears furious raps on his door.

He groans, thinking if ignoring the knocks for the sake of scrubbing his pot clean would be a good idea before clicking his tongue in annoyance as he dumps the pot angrily in the sink, the aluminum banging terribly as he bolts for the door, the one where the banging comes from. He hopes, in the back of his head that he didn’t leave a dent in his sink and that his precious non-stick pot is alright.

They crack easily.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming!” He shouts as he stalks as fast as he could across the aisle, his keys jingling as he looks for the key that will unlock the door. Outside was Marilou, as he had hoped was the one mercilessly banging on his door. He really can’t tell what he’ll do if it was the vandalising kids again. He can’t afford another break-in, not when he’s kind of saving up for a new ingredient.

She was frowning---really unbecoming when she looked like she has a potential for a beautiful smile. Toothy ones, at that. Her teeth are so straight, Arthur can tell.

 _So was her sexuality, it seems_ , a part of him says, tone bitter. He doesn’t even understand why that part of his brain would say that.

“What time is it?” She asks him. It sounded rhetorical, as Arthur watches the way her hands transform into very sharp claws---figuratively, but you get the image.

“I have a clock inside, let me go che—“ Before he even finishes his sentence, she drags his out by the collar of his shirt, her nails sharp as her other hand sticks to his forearm. He winces.

“Oh no, you don’t,” She says before she pushes him into her car.

“6 pm! I said six-fucki---Where are  you going!” She shouts at him from the passenger seat, already had her seatbelt on.

Arthur doesn’t pay her any heed as he all but squeezes himself into the window to get out, his keys out dangling on his hand, pointing towards his shop, “At least, let me _lock_ my door, for _fuck’s sake!”_

 

                Arthur flicks the light switch to his room open and the pair are greeted with the figure of Alex on Arthur’s bed, just as they had left him that morning.

“See, he’s still there.” He deliberately ignores the dark look Marilou sent his way.

She huffs, approaching the bed to grab at the duffel bag, “You didn’t even _unpack?_ ” Arthur raises an eyebrow, “You didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t _need_ to tell you. It’s _common sense_!” Arthur finds himself biting his own tongue, lest he say something unpleasant back.

Instead, he leans on the wall next to the door, his back slamming painfully against it. He feels the instant the pangs of pain came, from the source to the tips of his fingers but he ignores it all because his blood is burning.

He hates this arrangement.

He doesn’t see why he had to take all this burden when he’s not the one who started all this. This was all Alex’s fault, who apparently dumped his highschool sweetheart. That’s---one, two, three--- _a couple of years_ ’ worth of relationship down the drain! Of course, Annalise will be angry. She’ll call for a hexer to prove him wrong.

Well, _she_ is wrong. So is Marilou and she doesn’t have the right to push the burden on him because he’s a fucking victim in the stupid, petty crossfire!

He doesn’t deserve this!

He looks up to glare at Marilou, who had Alex’s cotton-soft pants off his legs, his diapers---wait.

Diapers?

“He does it every morning and afternoons---thankfully---his body had a routine so it wouldn’t be much of problem.” She says. Apparently Arthur had said the last bit out loud.

“R-routine?” He manages to say, walking towards Marilou to the bed. He now notices the contents of the duffel bag, on why it’s so light, despite being filled to brim to the point that the opening is popping out: adult diapers, baby powder, and some change of clothes.

When the diaper was secured on Alex’s, she grabs the pants. She then calls at Arthur, tapping Alex’s leg. “Would you mind?”

“Uh,” Arthur swiftly approaches, helps her raise the man’s legs and he watches how she expertly slides the garment up to his hips. _She must be doing this everyday…_

Then he thinks with dawning fear, _I’ll be doing this every day._

“You can’t be serious…” Arthur tells her as she stands up, pulling out the contents of the duffel bag and organising them by the foot of Arthur’s bed. She looks up from her work to face him. “Of course, I am. If I can do it, so could you.”

“But why can’t you keep him with you while I do the work?”

She turns her head away, voice low. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Arthur breathes out, “A nurse?”

She shakes her head. “You’re the spell-caster. Maybe having him with you will help you find the cure easier.”

Arthur winces, “That’s, that’s not how it works.” Then frustration builds up inside until it bursts on the spot. “That’s not how _it_ works!”

“Then make it work!” She screams back at him, pressing her face close to Arthur’s in defiance. She looks at him fiercely, her face contorted in the same kind of frustration Arthur has. It was the weight of the burden, pushing her into the point of breaking.

She pulls at her hair, pushing at the strands as she takes it off her eyes, tears prickling at the corners.

“Make it work,” She pulls at the duffel bag, plunges her hand in and drags out a tube harshly.

“I’ll show you how to feed him,” she grounds out, eyes on the ground, on the tube, on the linens of Arthur’s bed. Anywhere but Arthur’s.

It’s the end of the conversation.

Arthur sighs, his tongue bitten in his mouth and nods.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, coma patients poop and pee, too. What a surprise.  
> Felipe and his police officer of a boyfriend that is also a tank, will be showing up in the future. Or at least will get some mentions, who really knows.


	4. Interlude: Ludwig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude of sorts before we pick up where we had left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ya’ll already know who felipe is and who prolly his police officer of a boyfriend who is also a tank is. So I really wanted to give him a little cameo but he doesn’t fit in any of ch 4 (spoilers: there will be some lil time skip, but not a lot, by like 10 years of smthng. no) so I thought why not make an interlude since imma technically make an entire new slice (of life, pfft) in the next chapter, yeah? So here, have fun.  
> Warnings for awkward.

                It was only a couple of minutes after Marilou had left his flat and Arthur with a heavy, breathing, and a living-but-not-really load on his shoulders when he heard some knocks on his door.

At first, he would’ve assumed it was Marilou, who had forgotten something so important she had to swallow her pride and walk the walk of shame all the way back to Arthur’s flat and knock to ask the warlock…nicely about whatever it is she had left.

If you know, whoever was knocking _is_ her to begin with.

Arthur’s ears can certainly say that it wasn’t the case.

For one, the newcomer is a male. Or so the voice from the back of his mind is telling him so. Then Arthur wonders who could it have been; the knocks sounded very polite.

“Arthur! You in there?” It asks in a very masculine voice. Arthur’s clairvoyance had yet to let him down. It doesn’t say anything if whoever’s behind the door is dangerous or not, however, much to Arthur’s dismay. He frowns, turns his head towards Alex who’s still sleeping the sleep of the cursed, blissfully unaware of the possible dangers of a stranger who happens to know Arthur’s name may pose once they see Alex lying on Arthur’s bed unconscious like he actually owns the thing.

Given that, of course, this stranger also knows that Arthur lives alone, that is.

The knocks stop and Arthur almost sighs in relief until the knock resume again, this time, not as polite as he can here actual fists slamming into his delicate wood of a door. Cheap flats and all that.

“Coming, I’m coming! …Christ.” He inwardly groans, rolling his eyes as he scrubs at the hair at the back of his head, messing them further than they used to. He gives Alex a cautious glance before leaving for the door and praying to whoever’s willing enough to listen that that better not be the cops.

He cranks the door open, but not before hanging the chains so that the door is only slightly ajar and inaccessible by whomever’s outside. One can never be too cautious.

“Yes…?” Arthur felt his tongue get stuck in his throat when his eyes stuck themselves to the sight of a---you guessed it---a police uniform. Immediately, he felt his brain fry and his inner soul scream. The voices in his head, contrarily, said soothing words. Except that one of those words isn’t really soothing and Arthur found himself wondering why he thought of the word and accidentally spilled them out to the officer in front of him.

“Lud---“

“---We never met---”

“---wig.”

The officer tried to cut him off but failed, so instead he just gave Arthur a tired look of defeat. He looked like he doesn’t really wanted to be here and Arthur can agree with him to that one if he could talk to the man properly without feeling like he’s hiding something, which is actually true, but Arthur is still in denial so he’s going to think that he’s really got nothing to hide and is just paranoid.

They ended up staring at each other for a little while. After some more time of wordless staring, Arthur noticed that the officer had begin fidgeting as well. Arthur started fidgeting a little while ago when he realised that neither of them seemed keen of breaking the ice and is glad to know that the officer has yet to notice that Arthur had started fidgeting long before he had done so because Arthur is behind a door right now and the other isn’t.

Then the officer glances to his left, then to right, his eyes roving across the empty hallway. It appeared to have given him the edge he needed as when he got his eyes back to Arthur, he finally decided to break the tension himself. He sighs, “Look, I was just sent here to check if you’re alright.” He gestures towards Arthur’s direction. Arthur raises an eyebrow, confused.

“I am.” He nods in agreement. “Er, that’s all?”

The officer’s eyebrows furrow, he seemed stressed. “Yes.”

“Um,” Arthur swallows before nodding again. “Okay.” He tells the officer, who nods right back at him. They appeared to have switched from fidgeting to nodding at each other now for reasons they do not understand. Arthur wanted this to be over now.

“Alright then, have a good day.” The officer nods once again, hopefully the last.

“Yeah, you too, mate.” Arthur nods to the other, hopefully the last, as well.

The both of them seemed relieved when the officer moved to turn away, then the officer puts his hand of his cap and gives it a slight twist, and turns back to Arthur before telling him, “Just be sure to tell Feliciano I already came by.”

Then everything suddenly clicked.

“Oh! You’re…” Arthur’s small moment of victory died out when he’s met with the empty hallway, Felipe’s boyfriend no longer in sight. The bloke must’ve fled as soon as Arthur had realised who he is.

“…Felipe’s boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can def imagine a beet red ludwig running for his life


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive, of course. I had been writing stuff periodically (like every 2 months but I really hate typing on a family computer bc I always feel eyes behind my back) but surprisingly enough I sit on a (borrowed) laptop for 3 hours and I pop this thing in one sitting! Cool beans. Also since I made this under 3 hours or less in one sitting, this is Unbeta’ed. Take caution.

               Arthur sighs.

He has his hands hovering, slightly shaking in fatigue for keeping them up for so long above a beautiful display of pastel pink and blue cupcakes. If Arthur fucks this up, he’ll get one hell of a bitching from the guy who worked his shit all morning on these sweets.

This will be the fifth time in just a span of two days, if he messes up again.

He internally clicks his tongue, shouting “I know, already!” at himself before slowly breathing in, feeling his own magic flow, focusing on that tiny trickle of light slowly manifesting above every single confection. He feels his lips slowly tug up into a smile, the fact that he had his hands held up over the display for about an hour by this point was forgotten because he’s actually managed to do it this time without his hands falling and messing with the icing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, as he tells himself internally, he gently blows at the tiny sparks that grew into sparkles over each cupcake.

“That’s not the fire hazard kind, right?”

Arthur whips his head to the counter; his hands settling comfortably back to his sides before setting his gaze back to the display, eying his latest work of art.

“Nah,” He says, shaking his head. He turns his head back to the man on the counter, “They’ll come off once you peel the cup off of them.” At the silence he received from the other, he adds, shrugging, “They’re _illusions_ , to simply put. Doesn’t do anything if you touch them.” He hovers puts his hand over one of the sparkles, slowly moving his fingers around for emphasis.

“Harmless.”

He gets a nod. “Oh, good.” Then a smile. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”

Arthur frowns, and then it deepens when those stupid eyes crinkle into what Arthur can only perceive as mocking. “Shut it, Frankie.”

Now, it was Frankie’s turn to frown, his eyebrows drawn as he raises a hand to cup his face, the other wrapped around his middle like a half-assed attempt at crossing arms with only one hand. “It’s _Francis_. You know that. I told you that.”

Arthur shrugs, finds himself smiling when Frankie bumps him on purpose as the other went to see how Arthur did with his cupcakes. Knowing the other man, he’s only doing it to look for any signs of Arthur’s fuck up. Which there isn’t, of course. He did it perfectly today.

“You sound more like it.”

Frankie turns a curious eye at Arthur, an eyebrow raised in a way that says something in the lines of “I’m suspicious”.

He did not disappoint.

“You know,” Frankie begins. “That’s a sign of incompetence in clairvoyance. Doesn’t that affect your _main_ line of work?” By _main_ , he meant Arthur’s apothecary, of course. Like hell Arthur will let anyone but himself know he’s doing illegal shit every now and then. It’s _illegal_ , after all.

It wasn’t like he’s actually been involved in much illegal shit lately, anyway. Kind of had to…quit since Alex came into the picture---er, his flat. Between the apothecary and his part-time job at the café, he could barely have time to himself when he had to take care of another person other than himself that he had to stop his illegal business altogether just so he can have some time to sleep.

Of course, he can always quit his work in the café. The illegal works pay more than this one ever does, really, but he couldn’t let go of the security that is routine.

It’s part of his life.

Needless to say, he kind of liked working here. Frankie as his new boss aside.

There’s also that lingering tiny presence of the…G-word. You know what that is. Arthur full well knows what that is but if he doesn’t think about it or acknowledge its tiny, non-existence, it wouldn’t be real.

Not that it was real to begin with, ha.

No wonder Marilou gave up so easily.

But he’s not Marilou nor Annalise. He’s Arthur and he’s better than them. He doesn’t feel…the G-word.

“Clairaudience.” Arthur says. Frankie doesn’t seem like he was expecting a legit reply to his underhanded insult. He blinks at Arthur, “Excuse me?”

“Clairaudience,” he repeats at the other man, blowing some stray bangs off his forehead as he pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. “I’m clairaudient. It means I _hear_ things instead of seeing them.”

“Huh,” Frankie mutters, now seeming interested as he rests his elbows on the counter, eyes shifting between Arthur and the cupcake display. Mostly on Arthur as he leans forward, his nose almost touching Arthur’s but doesn’t because Arthur managed to lean away.

 “How does that work?”

It was Arthur’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I hear things.”

“Hear _most_ of them, anyway.” He adds, shrugging nonchalantly. Even Arthur himself couldn’t find a proper word to describe his…thing. Labels are such terrifying, constricting things. It prevents people into being comfortable with who they are.

Frankie raises a brow at him in turn that says “Yes, I know that already, idiot.” But what comes out of his mouth was a “Yes, but how does _that_ work?”

There was a moment of silence between them save for the constant ticking of the wall clock mounted behind them before Arthur blinks owlishly at the other, who doesn’t look like he’s about to retract his question and apologise for its stupidity anytime soon.

 _Ugh, non-magicks_ , Arthur mentally groans.

He plops down on a stool before resting his head on his hand that’s propped on the counter by the elbow before replying in the steadiest voice he can muster. “Clairvoyants _see_. Information comes to them via images and ideas whereas me, a clairaudient, can hear words, sentences, or even kinds of specific sounds to relay information. In other words, you scream ‘ _Frankie_ ’ and therefore, you _are_ Frankie.”

To Arthur’s relief, his half-ass attempt at explaining his ability was understood well as Frankie nods, humming in deep thought. “I take it back. The politically correct thing to say is ‘you have very bad hearing.’”

Arthur balks. “What the---!”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you won’t stop insisting that my name is Frankie when it’s Francis. It’s even written on my name tag!” He tugs at the metal tag pinned to his uniform, pointing at a beautiful script that can clearly be read as “Francis” embossed on it.

Arthur lets his eyes roam on the tag for a good second before returning to Frankie’s expression. He gives him a shit-eating grin before muttering, “Your name tag’s wrong, then.” Then he gives it a tug, the kind of tug only teenagers in their punk-phases do to piss the shit out of old people they hated to become.

In the end, one cannot stop destiny.

Everyone is bound to grow old.

And eventually die.

There’s disappointment flashing in Arthur’s eyes when all Frankie did was sigh in exhaustion, a hand coming up to knead his forehead as he shakes his head at him. “I could fire you anytime, you know?”

“But you didn’t.”

Another sigh. “If Feliciano didn’t make me promise not to, trust me: I really would. It would save me the name-butchering and the burnt cakes every morning.”

“I don’t burn your cakes _every_ morning.”

“Four out of five, you do.”

“Better hire someone better to do your stupid sparkles then.” He sighs tiredly. They never did the sparkle-thing in the café before Frankie took over; after all, it’s only normal that it really wasn’t Arthur’s forte.

Anything relating edible food isn’t really his, truth be told.

Arthur’s reply pulls out a sigh on the other, equally as tired. He rests his head heavily on his hand and gazes at his cake displays wistfully.

“I would, if we weren’t so…broke right now because of the extra ingredients that end up in the trash.” Then a not-so-subtle glance in Arthur’s way that says “Yes, I mean you.”

Arthur pretends not to hear it so clearly in his head and instead throws, “In my opinion, it’s more cost-effective to use the money for extra ingredients on the ‘sparkler’. It also reduces the time you spend in the kitchen and the effort you put on those cakes.” He lamely waves a hand to gesture towards Frankie’s beautiful array of cakes. All individually designed, all were obviously spent meticulous time on the dressing and the decorating. It’s like it came from those cliché baking films that says that the secret ingredient to the cakes is love.

Arthur internally snorts at the irony concerning his current life. If only it was so easy…

To Arthur’s slight surprise, his advice was taken without much question. “Hm, yes. My thoughts exactly. You better remind me to post an ad about that later.”

Arthur shrugs. “Sure.” He pauses, thinking. Then shoots another question at Frankie. A new topic.

“Where’s Felipe going to again?”

It incites a look from Frankie, who eyes him before slowly answering, “To Italy. Art school.”

Huh, didn’t know that. “And his boyfriend?” He wracks his head for the man’s name. “…Ludwig?”

“LDR.”

At Arthur’s blank stare, Frankie elaborates. “Long-distance relationship.”

“How long will he be staying in Italy?”

Frankie pulls at his hair, “Four…five years? Not really sure. I heard he’s planning on staying too until his brother leaves the seminary.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“Forgot. And why are you asking _again?_ He told you that himself last month before he left the café to me. You ask the same thing every other day. It’s tiring.”

“I did?” Arthur asks, surprised. He doesn’t really remember. Details fly over his head when he’s not really paying attention to what he says half the time.

“Yes.” Frankie glances at the wall clock behind Arthur. “Oh, look.” He points a finger above Arthur’s head, at which the warlock follows to see the time.

It’s 6 AM, right on time.

“Time to open up.” Frankie tells him, clapping his hands at him that says “Chop, chop!”

Arthur sighs, internally saying “ _Here we go again_ ,” as he begrudgingly stands up from his seat to open the door and pull up the “open” sign.

 

               Time sure do fly fast, Arthur thinks as he slams his flat’s door closed with a loud thud.

It was so loud he had to wince at the force himself, his grip on his groceries tightening as he presses them closer to his chest. What’s with his stupid foot and it’s itching need to kick as hard as they could whenever the occasion demands it?

He sighs, forgets the question entirely as he turns the lights on in the living room. He proceeds to walk swiftly towards his small dining table, barely used because he prefers to eat in his bed with his eyes on his laptop. That doesn’t happen anymore, of course. Not when his bed isn’t his to use anymore and he is now demoted to sleeping on his old worn out couch that loves to poke his back whenever he does something small like to breathe.

Arthur feels his stomach churn at the smell of his Chinese take-out, the container warm in his hands as he takes it out of the bag along his groceries that contain mostly his basic needs like a new tube of toothpaste and some instant noodles he can make in the middle of the night if he ever gets hungry in the unholy hours of the night. He looks at the container longingly and falls into the temptation to flip the box open, revealing brown-coloured rice, sautéed with spices, soy-sauce, and vegetables. Maybe some prawn too. The egg topping the rice has Arthur imagining himself poking at that yolk, letting its yellow essence mix into the rice’s sweet heat, enriching the flavour some more.

But before that...

Arthur checks his phone and sees the time. It’s time to take care of Alex first. Keep him fed and dehydrated. Then his clothes, his sheets. There’s just so much to do before he gets some actual time for himself. Arthur sighs, giving his dinner one last look with a promise of later before sealing the container shut again. He decides against stocking it in his mini fridge since he hates eating food when cold, and it will save him a lot more if he refrains from using his microwave too much.

 He first makes sure to have his groceries placed where they should be, then he’s moving in to his room that wasn’t quite his anymore. Nowadays, it just keeps his closet where he takes his clothes, then some of his personal things he doesn’t want guests to see in his living room despite having guests over being a rare thing. He couldn’t even use his own room to change his clothes in anymore. Despite Alex being unconscious and unaware of his surrounding, Arthur still thinks it’s weird to undress in front of other people. Nobody wants to know that people undress in front of them while they sleep too, Arthur presumes.

He flicks on the switch to his room and was glad to see that Alex was just as he had left him that noon: still and breathing. He smiles, “Good to know you behaved today,” He tells the man, who barely gives Arthur any signs of acknowledgement other than his steady breaths.

Arthur could no longer tell when, but at some point, he had started talking to Alex’s body---because dark thoughts aside, he is as good as dead, only that he’s still breathing and his brain is still living but his soul...is elsewhere---and despite the lack of response, there is some comfort knowing that there is someone out there who listens, who can hear (some) of Arthur complaints and actually not say anything bad about it. It’s like talking to a tree except that there are no beings occupying the tree that may use that knowledge as weapon against you. Arthur knows because it had happened before in his childhood and it wasn’t a good experience.

Arthur takes his time, looking around the room before stretching. He grunts as he feels his joints creak, the burn pleasant in his tired body. He moves across the room, passing by Alex, towards the slightly-closed window. “Now that I am here, we can now keep this fully-open, again.” He pushes at the glass until it slides open. The gust of cool wind hits his face harshly and immediately feel the cold seep through his bones, making his shiver. “Okay,” He grunts, feelings his teeth tremble, “Maybe not.” He slides the window closed again.

“That was a disaster,” He mumbles to himself, shaking his head. He turns towards Alex, who neither moved nor reacted to any what Arthur did for the past minute and tells him, “Time for dinner.”

 

               Arthur wakes up three hours late to his shift.

He wakes up on the floor, to an unfinished dinner and an illegible scrawl that would’ve been his notes for a new spell formula for a new product he’s supposed to release this week. It seems like he has to push that back for a few more days again, looking at its current progress. There had also been thirty-three missed calls from his boss, probably fuming asking for his whereabouts. In his fatigue the other night, he must’ve failed to hear his alarms and the numerous calls.

That means he had failed to check on Alex this morning too.

He cusses loud, throws his phone on the couch and proceeds to stand on his shaky feet. He rushes to his bedroom and was glad to know that nothing was amiss. He checks Alex’s temperature with the back of palm and sighs when it also comes up normal. His head still throbs painfully, and he raises a hand to knead it, blinking the white splotches of pain clouding his vision away.

“Breakfast,” He tells Alex.

Today is not his day, apparently.

 

               “Where the hell have you been?” Frankie asks him; four parts furious and one part worried. His brows were furrowed and his eyes were dark. He raises a hand to mess with his long hair, making him look much more haggard than Arthur is.

Arthur opts for the truth. “I overslept. I didn’t hear my alarms,” Frankie’s brows further furrows in confusion, mouth opening to disrupt him but Arthur instead speaks louder, to stop the other until at least he finishes speaking. “I didn’t hear your thirty-eight missed calls either.”

“There were only thirty-three.”

“Yeah, I’m just trying to piss you off but now I’m creeped out over how you knew you only had exactly thirty-three missed calls on my phone.”

“Why would you even want to pi---“ He stops, turning his head. He shoves some of his hair that fell over his face and looks at Arthur in the eye.

“Arthur, Feli told me that you are his best employee. I also think that,” He looks over him, then shrugs, “foul mouth and all, but,” his gaze returns to Arthur’s eyes. Deadly serious. “Something is definitely bothering you and it’s affecting your work performance. I just lost eight customers today because we don’t have enough people to cover your shift.”

Francis shakes his head and pulls out a notebook. Arthur doesn’t know what’s written in it but he can assume that it has something to do with what he’ll tell him. “You have to fix it because if you don’t I’ll have to fire you. Regardless of what my cousin made me promise,” He holds Arthur’s gaze again, waving his notebook for emphasis, “because for one, this is my cafe now, and I don’t want to lose it because of an incompetent employee.”

 “Do you understand?”

Arthur nods, “Crystal.”

Francis nods, deeming Arthur’s answer as acceptable. “Good, you can take the rest of the day off. Rest up. I’ll send your schedule for the week tonight.” He gives Arthur another stern look, pointing at his pocket where Frankie assumes Arthur’s phone is in. “Be sure to check you e-mails before heading off to bed.”

 

               “What do you mean they’re _immune_? That’s bollocks!” Arthur screams into his phone. He throws away the keys to his shop into the cabinet by the register’s table and proceeds to enter his little kitchen inside. He can hear in the nurse’s voice how she winced at Arthur’s language but it’s not like he can help it. He’s in a foul mood and is very offended right now when he received a call from one of his regular clients when they called to cancel their orders because the students gained a full immunity of all things against his potion.

“You can’t just develop immunity to potion! Do you know how potions work? Do you have a med witch in there that I can talk to?” Potions aren’t like a common medicine: they attack a person’s physiology by studying the workings of the human body. Potions can and will change their structures according to their target’s to be able to what they are made to do. In Arthur’s _Sunny Meadows_ ’ case, they transform into your regular medicine to ease a person’s stomach ache.

Arthur opens one of his potion cabinets, looking for his new and improved version of said potion he’s planning on taking with him as sample and maybe to use on these so-called “immune” children. He smiles darkly, _we’ll see that immunity now_.

“ _Er, yes, that. Um,”_ The nurse starts. She gives Arthur a nervous laugh, “ _We actually don’t, erm. Have a medical witch in service, hah, because the school does not approve of them. Of the magicks, I mean. We had your potions delivered in secret.”_

“What?”

 

               Arthur should really consider giving his clients a background check.

For all the years (three) that the nurse had never failed to renew her subscription of regular deliveries of the potion, Arthur had barely known anything about the school the potion benefits from.

It’s a private school, which kind of makes sense, he thinks. What he couldn’t wrap his mind around over is the fact that there are still people who does not approve the use of magick, especially when it comes to its healing properties. It wasn’t like medical sorcery hadn’t been around for as long as time existed. The druids who were said to be the first people who practiced magick in U.K. used it for healing purposes too, so non-magicks cannot exactly say that they do not trust magick to heal because the discipline is new.

But since the nurse begged him not to talk show up as a sorcerer who was responsible for the so-called stomach ache meds, thus revealing to the school’s officials that the medicine they had been approving for purchase is actually potion brewed by a sorcerer, Arthur had agreed to arrive to the school under the guise of a med student. A human med student who does not practice magick at all, supposedly a nephew or something of the actual pharmacist who patented the drug.

“Isn’t that... I don’t know, _illegal_?” Arthur can feel his body tingle at the irony.

“ _Don’t worry,”_ his client assures him. “ _They don’t know a thing about anything_.” Now he worries about the school.

“Allistor Kirkland, you say?” The security guard asks as he checks Arthur’s ID again.

“Yes, that’s me.” He says, and hopes to God that the security guard did not hear the slight tremor in his voice. He’s starting to regret using a glamour, but the nurse’s assurances doesn’t really make him feel better. His current concern right now is that if cops were to get involved, then who will take care of Alex?

“Mr Kirkland!” He hears someone call him. He and the guard both turn towards across the school gates and sees Arthur’s client. She waves at him, and judging by the shortness of her breath, or the stagger in her steps as he neared them, Arthur can deduce that she had ran her fastest to get to Arthur as soon as she could. Arthur is thankful for that, at the very least.

“Please, there’s no need. He’s with me.” She nods at the guard, placing her hand on Arthur’s shoulder to lead him in. “He’s here for the stomach ache med the kids use.”

At the mention of the “medicine”, the guard’s eyes spark in recognition. “Oh, yeah, I know that one.” He scoffs, shaking his head and tells Arthur, “I really doubt the kids were immune, it works just fine for me!”

Arthur nods, and before he can say anymore, he’s being dragged away towards the clinic.

Once they were alone, Arthur raises his hand, cutting off the nurse before she could speak. “I have an idea, leave it to me.” She frowns, “You haven’t even heard me talk.”

Arthur thins his lips, “trust me, I heard enough.”

 

               Arthur’s plan consisted of staying in the clinic with the nurse. He’ll take at least three students for consultation before he leaves and the deliveries will continue.

“How will that fix things?” the nurse asks him for nth time. “It would, just watch.”

Arthur had only spent about half an hour in the clinic, helping out the nurse do an inventory check and other things when a student came in for a check-up.

Stomach ache, he had told them.

Arthur checks the student’s record and notices how many times the student had admitted himself in for the same reason. It didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur that the dates were always during the exam season. He clears his throat and locks gazes with the student who flinches under his dark eyes. Aside from the glamour, he also wore a face mask to keep the students from remembering his fake face.

“I’ll give you the usual prescription of _Sunny Meadows_ and excuse you from whatever class you’re supposed to be in at this time then you’re free to go to your next class.”

“Wait, I’m not excused for the day?” He asks Arthur in surprise.

Arthur looks at him with blank, empty eyes. “Yes. The _Sunny Meadows_ will be enough to keep the pain away. Permanently.”

The kid had the gall to smile, “But I’m already immune.”

Arthur makes a show of adding illegible scribbles to the kid’s prescription. He’s satisfied to know that the kid makes a subtle look to see what it is, but unfortunately, he will never know because there isn’t any to begin with.

He clears his throat again, making the student wince, “Then come back here so I can recommend you to a hospital.” He pulls out the student’s medical record of the clinic, pointing at the kid’s medicine prescription log with the tip of his pen. “This says here that you had thirteen consultations and got prescribed with _Sunny Meadows_ but you said it didn’t work so you were given the standard pain killers. Didn’t work either so you had to rest at home. That’s worrying.

He looks at the kid again, keeping his gaze. Arthur notices the cold sweat beading on his forehead. “So if you feel signs of your stomach ache again, do come back so we can call your parents and avoid this from getting any worse.”

He rips off the prescription letter and hands it to the student to submit to his teacher later and sends him off with the nurse, who stood next to the kid all throughout their talk. She looked back at Arthur gratefully before sending the kid to her booth, where she will give him his prescribed med and leave.

“The problem is,” Arthur says as he flicks his can of cola open, “you’re too damn nice to these little shits. Now they’ve taken advantage.”

The nurse winces at Arthur’s use of language once again but nods. “I know, I guess we just don’t know how to handle it?”

“Yep.”

“Okay then,” She nods to herself. “I’ll tell my other mates so we can deal with this properly next time.”

“And the deliveries?”

“Still on, of course. The new batch you brought today works much faster than the old ones, by the way, and we want that one.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Arthur breathes out.

That’s at least something good turning up today.

 

             Tonight, Arthur has shawarma for dinner and he actually has the time to eat in front of his telly-a new addition to his lonely flat after he moved the one he owned in his shop to his flat because he just felt like it. Though the amount of time he had spent carrying it from the shop to his flat isn't something he's willing to go through again, he guesses he'll have to live the rest of his life brewing without the background noise of his telly in his shop anymore. That or he'll get himself another one, given that he'll become much more financially stable again.

He had been absent-mindedly watching the news as he nibble away on his dinner when the screen flashes Alex's face, only that he's awake and much more livelier in the picture than the one lying in his bed right now.

"...missing persons report, if anyone has seen or known of this man's whereabouts, please call any of the numbers on the screen. His name is Alfred Jones, 23 years old. He is currently in a comatose. His family had last seen him in his girlfriend's flat and went missing yesterday. So again, for anyone who had seen him or had known of his whereabouts, please..."

If Arthur hadn't stopped chewing the moment he had seen Alex's face on the screen, he would've choked. Now some things started making sense: the lack of e-mails from Marilou asking about her boyfriend's well-being, or Arthur's supposed allowance for Alex's expenses for the past two months. Arthur wonders if Marilou had been expecting Arthur to see this report, not when she hadn't known that Arthur owned a telly to begin with, after all.

Whether she knew or not, Arthur has settled to a conclusion: Marilou has fully, truly given up. The thought leaves a cold, heavy feeling in his chest and now, walking towards his room and looking at Alex's prone form, he recognises it for what it is.

"I pity you," He tells the unmoving body, ironically unfeeling of anything happening around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inbox is kind of disturbing me bc it had unread mails and I swear I read them and love them but rn I couldnt get myself to answer them yet so to those who commented on my fics and were sad to know I never answered....please be patient. Wait for meeeee //sobs

**Author's Note:**

> Surprisingly, I came ready with the necessary amount of research from my years as a ...well. You read the fic.  
> I'm not a witch tho, nor do I practice. Some of what Arthur did in there were accurate and some are off. Artistic license and all that. What arthur did was a kind of hex we call barang where you use animals to inflict injury or whatever.  
> As far as I know, wind is the strongest element out there. And hexers CAN misaim if someone happened to be standing in the vicinity where the target is in too. Usually, its the wind that tend to mess up. Water is accurate, from what I'd seen lol.


End file.
